


Take A Chance On Me

by alleyesonthehindenburg



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: "is it a songfic" actually no but it's a mamma mia au, "is it realistic" it's a mamma mia au, "what's it about" it's a mamma mia au, I refer all questions to that tag, Multi, Queer Themes, Romance, it's a mamma mia au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-04 15:49:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17900999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alleyesonthehindenburg/pseuds/alleyesonthehindenburg
Summary: It's 1976, homosexuality has just been decriminalised in California, and Erin Hunnicutt is getting (informally) married. All eyes are on her for her big day – but she's secretly invited an old friend of her parents, and things are starting to spiral out of hand.a.k.a., the Mamma Mia AU





	1. Honey, Honey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onekisstotakewithme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onekisstotakewithme/gifts), [flootzavut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flootzavut/gifts).



_It’s been far too long since I held you in my arms, sweetheart. Would it be untoward, I wonder, if I were to leap at you and kiss you in the middle of your panel? Well, I may not be the problem – BJ feels much the same, and he’s a bit more difficult to restrain than I am! But I suppose we’ll control ourselves until we get to your hotel room._

_I can’t wait for the conference, darling. I can’t wait to see you._

_All my love,_

_Peggy Jane_

_August 3rd, 1950_  

 

* * *

 

“I _know_ this is him,” Erin crows, handing the letter over to Sherry, whose brow creases as she looks down at it. “It’s gotta be.”

“Erin – “

“Look at that, tell me that’s not romantic!”

“Well, yeah, it is,” Sherry says. “And also kinda horny, which is gross, they’re your parents. Where did you even find these?”

“I was searching the attic for the garter that Mom wore at her wedding, and I found this instead.” Erin gestures at the hat box that’s sitting open in her lap, filled to the brim with letters. “They were writing for years. Before _and_ after I was born.”

Sherry gives her a look at that, reaching out to grab another of the letters. “You don’t think…?”

Erin shrugs. “It’s not like my dad’s not my dad. But, yeah, maybe.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

It’s weirdly nostalgic, the two of them sitting cross-legged on the floor of Erin’s childhood bedroom, rifling through her parents’ things. The moment feels strangely anachronistic, just days ahead of her wedding – her _wedding_ , god, she’s going to be _married_ – but it’s tinged with that weird part of adulthood that no one told her about beforehand, the learning family secrets that were only ever hinted at.

“Okay,” Sherry says, scanning another letter. “So, this is probably him.”

“Definitely.”

“Yeah, probably. But Erin, you don’t even know this guy. He’s never been in your life. You’re getting married soon, you’re starting a whole new chapter. Why does this matter now?”

 

* * *

 

_The funeral is on Saturday. I know I said you shouldn’t come, but as it turns out gin isn’t actually much of a substitute for the pair of you. Give Erin a kiss for me?_

_Yours,_

_Hawkeye_

_March 18th, 1952_  

 

* * *

 

“Because it’s 1976,” Erin says. The words hang in the air between them, a lifetime of experience like a gaping chasm, and Erin reaches out to take the letters back. “I know that doesn’t…”

“No, Erin, I get it.” Sherry gives her wrist a gentle squeeze, smiling softly. “I mean, I don’t _get_ it, but – I get it, you know?”

“Yeah.” Erin leans in to give her a peck on the cheek, and turns back to the hat box. “I’ve read all of these. They didn’t stick because – I mean, Dad’s a surgeon, and back then – and I might’ve been taken away if anyone found out, you know?”

“Cool,” Sherry says, nodding. “Just, you know, casually break my heart. That’s fine.”

“It gets worse.”

“How can that get _worse_?”

Erin hands her the final letter, with **return to sender** stamped in big red letters. 

 

* * *

 

_Please come home. We miss you so much._

_BJ_

_January 7th, 1953_  

 

* * *

 

It’s another one of those things she wasn’t quite prepared for about growing up. As a kid, even as a teenager, her parents were there for _her_ . When she cried, when she got into a fight, when she was sick. She never even realised how much she relied on that truth until she was in college, listening to Mom talk about her and Dad’s summer plans, and she found herself resenting that she wasn’t included. Never mind that she already had an internship, that she wouldn’t even be in San Francisco the whole summer, that she didn’t even _want_ to go to Rome.

Coming to the realisation that her parents had their own lives had changed Erin’s perspective a lot, and for the better. But it also meant this, meant finding ages-old hurts that she’d never even noticed before.

“That’s super depressing,” Sherry says, putting the letter back. “Not exactly the mood you wanna set for your wedding, hon.”

Erin places the lid back on top of the hat box, holding it in her lap like something precious. “Yeah. About that…”

 

* * *

_  
Please Join Us for the (Informal) Wedding of_

_Erin Elizabeth Hunnicutt_

_and_

_Heather Evelyn Burns_

_on_

_May 19th, 1976_

_Stinson Beach_


	2. Money, Money, Money

By the time she actually makes it to the airport, Erin’s running late enough that she can’t even wonder what to expect. Some of the letters had indicated a photo sent along, but there were none in the hat box; she has a sneaking suspicion that they might be in the safe in the back of her parents’ closet, but there’s no point even trying to get at them in there.

Sherry had offered to come along, but Erin had turned her down. The Potters were wonderful people, but by pure happenstance were fairly conventional, and she didn’t want Sherry making a big deal over whether this man might be her father. She already had a father; a little thing like biology wouldn’t change that.

It’s pretty anticlimactic, all told. She has a sign ready, with ‘Pierce’ written in big letters, but she doesn’t even have a chance to get it out before she’s approached by the man in question. He’s nearly as tall as her dad, but skinnier, and despite the silver in his hair, she figures he can’t be much older than her parents. They shake hands, he declines her offer to help with his bags, and soon enough they’re bundled into her banged-up old car, sitting in awkward silence as she keeps her eyes on the road. He speaks before she does, still gazing out the window as he says, “Heather’s not a man’s name, is it?”

“Nope.”

He turns to look at her properly, grinning wide. “That’s fantastic,” he says, voice sincere and a little wistful.

It puts Erin back on even footing. She knows how to do this, how to talk with someone like her, someone queer. “I really never thought I’d get to.” She smiles dopily, her grip on the steering wheel relaxing. “After the law got passed, I asked Mom if I could have Grandma’s engagement ring – I thought it was a good time to propose, you know? Heather and I went down to Santa Monica for a vacation, and we went on the ferris wheel at the pier – you know the one – and when we were at the very top, I proposed.”

“That’s adorable.”

“Isn’t it? Well, but it was less adorable when the ferris wheel stopped.”

“Stopped?”

“For two whole fucking hours.”

He throws back his head and cackles at that, a full-body hyena laugh that’s somehow enormously endearing.

“So we’re super hungry, because we were gonna have dinner right after,” she continues, egged on by his laughter, “and it’s this super romantic moment that’s turned into a not-so-super romantic two hours, and by the end of it we go and stuff our faces with corn dogs and _then_ Heather starts crying because she’s so happy.”

“That you proposed, or that you got off the ferris wheel?”

She laughs, a high pitch to complement his quieting chuckles. They fall back into silence again, but it’s more comfortable now, fewer uncertainties hanging between them. They’re about halfway to Stinson Beach, and Erin’s about to point out her favourite restaurant when Hawkeye clears his throat, and says, “Not that I’m not thrilled to see you – I really am, Erin, god – but I was kind of expecting – I thought maybe your parents would be picking me up.”

Fuck.

Shit.

Fuckity fuck shit.

Nerves are palpable in his voice, and Erin glances at him out of the corner of her eye, gaze flitting between him and the road. He’s staring out the window again, but his hand in his lap is pulling at the material of his trousers, and his knee is bouncing up and down.

Fuck.

“Okay,” she says, forcing cheer into her voice. “So here’s the thing. I kind of invited you… as a surprise.”

She keeps her gaze fixed firmly on the road, but she can practically feel his wide-eyed stare. “A surprise,” he repeated faintly.

“Yeah.”

“How fast is this car going?”

“Um – why?”

“Because I’m about to jump out of it,” he says matter-of-factly. She rolls her eyes, reaching over him to lock the door without looking. There’s silence from his side of the car for a bit, before he says, “I was expecting a bit more of a reaction.”

“You think you’re the first dramatic gay I’ve had in this car? You’ve met my parents. And you’re gonna meet my fiancée.”

He takes a deep breath, rubbing at his brow like he’s developing a headache. “Erin.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Neither do I. Still doing it.”

He laughs at that, not as loud and sharp as before, but just as genuine. “God, you’re just like your mother,” he says. The wistfulness in his voice is almost uncomfortable, and he clears his throat, knee still bouncing up and down. “Look, I don’t –”

“Please stay,” she says. She’s pulling over to the shoulder of the road before she even realises it, putting the car in park so she can give this her full attention. “I know it’s a lot, and – well, okay, I _don’t_ know, but – I really want you at my wedding.”

“Why?”

Well, she was kind of hoping he wouldn’t ask that. She doesn’t even have an answer, but – “I know why you left.” It feels like the right thing to say, and rest just flows. “And maybe it’s kind of crazy, but I want my wedding – Heather and I want our wedding to be about more than just us, you know? It’s San Francisco. It’s 1976. Things are different now.”

“Erin –”

“I don’t expect this to magically fix anything.” She keeps her gaze firmly on his, determined. “I know it doesn’t work like that. I just want… you, and my parents, you deserve a proper end, if nothing else. Closure.”

“I’m sure your parents moved on a long time ago,” he says, looking out the windshield, but he does a poor job of disguising the consternation on his face, and she rolls her eyes.

“Would I be here if they had?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, putting the car back in drive and turning back the way they’d come. “I was gonna take you to the house, because we’ve been having all the guests stop by when they get in, but –”

“Definitely not,” he says quickly, relaxing incrementally as they turn away from Stinson Beach.

“So, let me know where your hotel is.”

He’s quick to answer, digging the address out of his bag, but Erin doesn’t miss the way his gaze keeps flitting back to the rearview mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no this doesn't have anything to do with the lyrics of the song, don't call me out, it's a mamma mia au)


End file.
